2004

—

The growing pile of clothes landing on Astoria's bed is an indication of two things — her simple taste in fashion and the anxiety seeing her parents causes.

She thought it was normal to spend this much time deciding on what to wear to family dinner. Not only has she been trying on different combinations of blouses and cardigans and skirts and pants and dresses for an hour, but she has been mapping out potential outfits every night for the past two weeks. But to her surprise, Ivy had told her very plainly that she never changes out of whatever she's previously been wearing to go to dinner with her parents.

Astoria conspired with Daphne earlier in the morning, who said very nonchalantly that she would be wearing a cream blouse with a deep sienna blazer and matching pleated trousers. Daphne had a much more sophisticated style than Astoria, not just because she cared more for fashion, but because she had the confidence to do it well.

The younger Greengrass sister has a million fears running through her head as she looks back in the mirror. She doesn't want to dress too plainly, or she will be called disrespectful. She doesn't want to dress too extravagantly, or she will be called vain. Her mother has always had an opinion on fabrics, and her father has always had an opinion on, well, everything.

In the end, more as a heed to time than satisfaction, she decides on a dark ribbed shirt and a long belted skirt, throwing on a cardigan with large buttons with the logic that it can be removed or kept on depending on the feedback of the evening. Astoria doesn't typically pay much attention to her hair, not minding if it flowed freely where it wanted to part or was hastily kept out of her eyes in a messy bun. Tonight, she brushes it carefully, pinning back the pieces in the front with a claw clip. She trims the tops of her brow hairs, which have gotten unruly in the weeks she's been ill. Astoria has always seen the irony in her father critiquing her features, all of which are thanks to him. She wonders what he has to say when he looks in the mirror.

When she reaches near the door, she slips her feet into a pair of black sock boots that reach about an inch above her ankle, and she smiles to herself as she remembers the night Draco stumbled into her flat in a pair of boots. Even the next morning, although it was much closer to noon, it was hard to watch him slip back out, but not before giving her another firm kiss on the mouth. The rest of the week as Astoria recovered, he and Daphne took turns sending meals to the flat in Surrey.

"Don't let any strangers in, Po," Astoria grins as she bends down to scratch the gray and white cat's head. A few loose pieces of long fur fall off his back and onto her hand. "If I'm not back by midnight, assume I've been held hostage."

The last bit is meant as a joke, but as she locks the flat she wonders if it holds any truth.

By some miracle, it isn't raining tonight, but the wind makes its presence known as Astoria walks up to the apparition point.

The cold air bites at her joints; even though she's not currently sick, the weather still has its effect on her body. She remembers watching longingly as Daphne played in the snow in their teen years over winter holiday, Astoria having no choice but to stay inside unless she wanted to be rendered immobile.

She feels a rush run through her body and exit her feet as she apparates, a pop signalling she's arrived at the Greengrass Manor in Chelsea. The property looks the same as always, the way it was when she grew up. The cobblestone that lines the driveway welcomes her in coldly, and as she walks up to the doorway, the vines reach down to brush her shoulder. Ahead of her, she hears the clacking of Daphne's shoes from a distance. Astoria sees her waiting on the porch as the younger sister makes her way over.

Daphne holds her arm out tentatively. "Ready, sister?" She smiles gingerly, placing her free hand on Astoria's wrist once she takes Daphne's arm to reassure her.

"Never will be, but it's okay," Astoria sighs as she stares down at the ground to guide her feet.

Tooksy opens the door for the two, greeting the two, his smile growing wider when he sees Astoria. "Hello Mistress Daphne, Mistress Astoria, how good it is to see you!"

Daphne slowly walks ahead as her sister stops to greet the elf, remarking about how long it's been since they've seen each other.

Astoria falls back in step with her sister as Tooksy apparates back to the kitchen, which produces a melodious aroma of garlic and herbs. From a young age Astoria began wondering how house elves were able to remember so many intricate dishes, but she figures it works the same way that magic folk are able to remember all their spells.

"Mordred, our daughters are here!" Priscilla calls as she gets up from her seat in the living room, coming over to greet the two.

Mordred peers over, finishing the last sentences of the paper he's reading. "Daphne, so nice of you to make it. I know you've been busy with work; those quidditch teams are keeping you on your toes."

"Better on the ground than in the sky, Father," she responds as he pats her shoulder. The parents have never been affectionate, whether with their children or with each other, although that did not stop the two sisters from abounding in embraces with each other.

"Astoria, you look thinner than you were last I saw you," Mordred frowns as he looks her up and down. The front pieces of her dark brown hair that takes after his frames her controlled scowl at his words.

"I have blood malediction, Father. I have been ill for a few weeks; it is expected that I've lost some weight." She stands poised, determined to not let her father turn the night sour just yet. "If it wasn't for Daphne, I'm sure I'd look worse."

Her sister smiles back at her, but Mordred responds, "of course! Daphne is so caring and intelligent. It's so good of her to look after you even when her vocational demands are high."

Astoria has to laugh at the situation, both at the absurdity and because it's the only way she can keep sane on evenings like this.

"I was just reading your article on the Montrose Magpies, Daphne. Your work is so articulate and full of character every time." Mordred continues to praise his older daughter as Daphne makes her way through the landscape paintings on the wall, feigning awe despite having seen them countless times before.

"Oh, that wasn't my best work, Father, but thank you," Daphne awkwardly laughs. Just around the corner, Priscilla peers into the kitchen not very discreetly, either hoping to see how long until the meal was to be served or to scare the elves into working faster, but perhaps both.

Surely enough her tactics prove to be successful, and all four family members line up one after the other to head into the dining room. The house elves march in with a large bowl of salad, which Mordred takes before waving them to scurry away. Tooksy places a few small bowls of toppings along the table. The Greengrass patriarch is the first to take the serving utensils, portioning out the appetizer onto his plate.

The bowl makes its way around the table. Astoria takes the serving utensils, conscious to add a nice helping of spinach and other greens to her plate. She tops it with the cranberries, walnuts, and pumpkin seeds in their individual bowls.

It's a relief for her to finally have her appetite back after weeks of illness. She enthusiastically allows the food into her mouth, without a doubt thankful that the house elves have cooked for her family for generations. Although she is fully independent, there is comfort in the meals that have been provided for her.

Her false sense of nostalgia is broken as soon as conversation sparks up again. "Astoria, is there a reason you're in a rush?"

She's confused at her father's words before realizing he finds the pace she eats at to be too fast. Astoria looks over at her sister next to her, who brings the salad up to her mouth at a much more relaxed pace. Still, Daphne herself does not look phased by her younger sister's method.

When the others have caught up, Tooksy brings out a baked rosemary chicken and potatoes and sets it in the center of the table, replacing the salad bowl.

"Daphne dear, which part would you like?" Priscilla says as she motions for Mordred to cut whatever their daughter responds with.

"I'll take a drumstick; thank you Mother," Daphne says indifferently. At her reply, that is exactly what immediately hits her plate.

Without asking for any request, Mordred serves Astoria last, giving her the rest of the chicken. She's not much of a picky eater, but she knows exactly why she's been served last and without any input.

Mordred clears his throat before speaking. "We received your quidditch tickets in the mail, Daphne. It was so kind of you to request seats for us next to you in the reporters' box."

"It was nothing, Father. I'm allowed guests whenever I'd like, so you're welcome to join me more often if you'd like." She firmly yet gracefully cuts into a piece of chicken.

"Astoria what work is it you do again? I can never seem to remember because you don't tell us." Priscilla works around her plate at her potatoes.

This is quite humorous to Astoria; she doesn't talk about her work because her parents don't seem to think it is an occupation at all. "I translate runic texts into English, and on the rare occasion I translate English texts into ancient runes." She hesitates to meet her parents' eyes, unsure of how their reaction will be this time.

"Do tell me how that is an appropriate use of your time, Astoria," Mordred says with exasperation. For someone can hardly explain what their own job is without confusing others, he seems awfully confident that Astoria's job is invalid.

"Studying language is crucial. The more languages we can translate runic texts to, the better we understand the way the world used to work. If you would like further proof that I am not squandering my time, I'll have you know that my translations are being used in ancient rune classes at Hogwarts," she responds cooly, hoping her rising temper does not get the best of her.

"I never understood why you liked that damned class so much," Priscilla says, shuddering as she wipes the corners of her mouth with her cloth napkin, staining the white fabric. "It's not like any of us are speaking in runes now."

"Understanding the literature from the time it was used is just as much an important piece of education. I should hope you do not regret mine and Daphne's education," Astoria says. "Besides, nobody spoke in runes in the ancient world either; it is a written language."

"Watch your tone, Astoria," Mordred says as Priscilla sits with her mouth agape.

Astoria knows it's the snark, rather than her tone, that her father has an issue with. In fact, she appears to be completely calm, and perhaps that is what bothers her parents the most.

To absolutely nobody's surprise, the dessert served is lemon tarts. Daphne flashes an apologetic smile to Astoria, who shakes her head understandingly, knowing it is not Daphne's fault.

"I'll take you to a cake shop after this," Daphne mouths to her sister, careful not to be heard by their parents.

Astoria doesn't mind the lemon tarts themselves. In fact, they taste delicious. The tang hits every corner of her mouth, a playful pinch that ends in sweet as it travels down her throat. She could never hate anything that reminded her of her sister.

Mordred clears his throat. "Daphne, your mother and I were speaking about this before you got here. Wouldn't it have been nice if Astoria had learned some manners from you?"

Daphne dabs the corners of her lips before responding. "I think her manners are perfectly fine, Father."

Priscilla winces as Mordred laughs. "Of course; I'm sure you want to be kind and don't want to say anything hurtful in front of her."

The entirety of dinner is a slow, twisting torture. Each course is worse than the one before it — more awkward and less tolerable. Although Priscilla looks the most physically uncomfortable, shifting about with every comment between her husband and children, Astoria finds it difficult to find sympathy in her heart. After all, why would she if her mother never sympathized with her, even when she was a helpless child?

The goodbyes are curt and clumsy, a clammer of half-hearted embraces created out of formality. Both sisters know there is much to spill off their tongues as soon as the door closes.

"I'm sorry, Astoria." "I can't believe them, Daphne."

They both sigh as Daphne drapes an arm over her younger sister's shoulders, Astoria briefly leaning into the embrace before steadying the both of them.

"I really shouldn't be surprised at this point, but I keep hoping that something will change," Astoria says, staring down at the ground where their feet land.

"You would think they would pick up on all the signals that we don't want to engage in certain favorite conversation topics with them," Daphne remarks before the two disapparate and separate.

Daphne heads off back to Essex, perhaps for a bath before bed or to a bar with Pansy.

Astoria doesn't even realize where she's apparated to until she finds herself on a different long, dark walkway in the countryside.

It's rare that it isn't raining in November, but it's just her luck that the tears come streaming down her face with no camouflage.

Perhaps hearing her steps on the cobblestones, Draco is waiting by the door when she approaches, brows furrowed to paint concern on his perfectly sculpted face.

She realizes she must look a mess, but she can't stop herself from falling into him.

"Hey," he says softly as a hand reaches up to hold the back of her head, the other landing on her back to steady her. "Hey, Astoria."

She chokes back a sob as she clings tightly onto him, still standing in the doorway.

"It's okay," he soothes, although unsure of what has happened. His hand runs up and down her back, pulling her head into the present moment.

Her breathing slows into a more controlled pace as she rests her forehead into the crook of his neck.

"Here, come inside." He guides her through into the foyer, passing by the cushioned bench carved with serpent heads to go up the stairs.

There is nothing inviting about the cold atmosphere of the Malfoy Manor, but Astoria has never felt so warm.

"They're just so cruel," she cries out. Her legs suddenly give way and she sinks down on the steps. She would normally attribute this to her malediction, but she finds herself placing full blame on her parents.

"I know, Astoria," Draco says as he leans down and sits beside her. "You've never deserved any of this."

"Then why does this keep happening?" She realizes there's not much of a logical answer, but this is the question that has plagued her longer than the curse has. She doesn't expect anything besides mere platitudes from him.

"It says more about them than it does about you," he whispers as his fingers comb through her hair mindlessly. "You've always been much kinder, much gentler than they could ever hope to become."

Whatever words she tries to get out next become lost in her throat as she cries. Draco hears apologies for getting his shirt wet and for bringing him into her mess. Astoria has grown used to holding back her feelings until she finds somewhere safe, typically alone. He can tell by the way she is unable to contain her emotion that she has bottled things up for a very long time.

"Shh," he tells her over and over as he cradles her head, the two falling into a strangely rhythmic pattern of surrender and comfort. In the soothing sound of his voice, Astoria finds grounding more than anything else. He brushes back the front pieces of her hair that have fallen out, seeing beauty in something her father would have given her grief for.

Eventually, her body grows tired from the heaving as she gasps for air, and it seems all the hydration in her body has flowed out of her eyes. She sinks into him, but this time rather than seeking for someone to hold her from breaking apart, she needs someone to revive the energy in her.

"Let's get you upstairs," Draco murmurs as he picks her up, an arm behind her shoulders and the other behind her knees. "You need to rest."

He pushes open the door of his room, and Astoria admits this was not the circumstances under which she wanted to enter it for the first time. Gently setting her down on the long emerald green couch, he grabs the glass that sits on his nightstand and fills it with a water-making charm. Wordlessly, he hands it off to her, watching as she breathlessly downs it all, as if she had just exited the desert after a thousand years.

"I'll start a bath," he mumbles, perhaps more so he can follow his own instructions rather than for Astoria to hear. She is far more focused on taking in her surroundings, finally gaining control of all five senses again.

She hears water running and fills the glass herself this time, drinking it just as swiftly as she did the first time. Her eyes find themselves landing on the tall bookshelves that line themselves with ancient bound books filled to the ceiling. She counts the burgundies and the navies, the emeralds and the aubergines.

Draco pads quietly back into the bedroom, holding the door to the bathroom open for Astoria. She runs her hands through her hair, the front pieces falling out once again.

"I've heated it up, but feel free to adjust the temperature as you like," he says as he searches her eyes for any indication of improvement or deterioration. "Take as long as you need."

She quickly stands up on her toes, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she thanks him. He smiles back weakly before grabbing a book from his nightstand and settling at the spot on the couch she had previously occupied just outside the door.

—

thank you all for waiting patiently for this chapter! i apologize if it is hastily written.

let me hear your headcanons about daphne! but if you have nothing nice to say keep it to yourself : )

qotd: what is your favorite outfit?

aotd: ripped cuffed mom jeans, button up top aka pirate shirt, high top converse (very bisexual of me i know)

don't forget to vote comrades!

enjoy the rest of your day/evening < 3